Madoka Comes to America
by 5Ball
Summary: In which the Girl from Cheyenne, roused from slumber, recites the tale of how the Law of the Cycles came to America.
1. Prologue: Cheyanne, Wyoming

The girl curls up into a ball under her covers, her body making hills where it raises the green outermost blanket. Under these wooly formations, she feels the small, metal object on her index finger, the object that, so long ago, an albino creature going by the name of Mr. Bun told her contained her soul. She was dead, they told her, the very essence of her being pried out by cosmic forces and crammed into a ruby (emphasis on crammed, since she liked to think she had a big soul). All so she could help albino space dolls 'ward off entropy'. She had no idea what the phrase meant, but if it meant Grandma Muriel could get to see who won the latest episode of Jeopardy, she was in.

Point is, under her covers, she doesn't feel dead. The heat from her body envelops her, locked in by the blankets like the ruby locks in her soul. No, she is alive, and warm and whole and back in her mother's-

A soft bump from under her bed sends her train of thought careening into a ravine, where it explodes into a million pieces.

"Hey, Stamp?"

_Bump. _The bedsprings are sent squeaking like mice. Or with the dying noises of dust mites, if you're the morbid type.

"Stamp?"

Reluctantly, the girl known as Stampede is roused from her slumber. Outside, a snowstorm howls in the Wyoming afternoon, threatening to pry the window open.

"Yeah, what is it, Fore?" she grumbles, sloughing the crust from her eyes.

It had been a little less than a week since she'd agreed to let the new kid sleep under her bed, and already she was starting to miss the Bogeyman that once resided there.

"Um, I know you're busy napping…"

Dang right she was! You didn't get a lot of opportunities to sleep with a life like hers!

"But I was wondering if maybe you could tell me a story. I'm tired of reading the mattress tag."

"Bookshelf. Opposite end of the room. Stampede, out."

Dang it! The mattress tag had been good enough reading when she was Fore's age. Why did kids have to be so darn smart now?!

"Actually, I was hoping for you to tell me some… superhero stuff. I mean, there has to be more to being a superhero than just hunting monsters at night."

Internally, Stampede wants to open her window and howl into the winter storm.

"Kid, trust me, I've heard a lot of tales from the supers going through this town, and most of them are-" She spits out her tongue, making a raspberry noise.

"B-but I heard about one that sounded interesting, from a girl I met on my way here. The Story of the Law of the-"

"Oh, that story I can tell you right now: angst, angst, angst, angst! Greif, grief, grief, Jesus metaphor! The End! _ThankyouforcomingfolksI'llbehereallnight!_"

She was halfway back under the covers when she felt a slight jab from below.

"Hey, that's not how it goes!"

"Okay, ya got me: there's also some chick named Kyosuke who is cute and religious and dresses in red. NOW it's the-"

"Why can't you just TELL me?!"

"Look, Fore, this might surprise you, but when you're out hunting geists all night, you really come to value your sleep. So please, just let me rest."

Even through a mattress and three layers of blankets, she can feel the baleful glare of Fore beneath her. She sighs. Stupid kid.

"Look, I'm not telling you that depressing sadsack of a story. You'll have nightmares for a month and Mr. Bun will throw a fit about me tainting your gem. But, _but_, if you want, I can tell you about why we have that stupid story in the first place. Best strap in, because this one's a doozy!"

And so, despite her exhaustion and general crankiness, Stampede talks. Because at the end of the day, she can't resist a good story.


	2. Chapter 1: Maho

A motley flotilla of boats race across the Pacific Ocean. If a passerby were to see them, they would find it a pretty unusual sight: the boats are lashed together by rope, the most powerful vessel travelling ahead of the rest, splitting the water with its' bow. While two slower vessels trail it on each side, and behind those two vessels are still even slower vessels, so that from above, they create a loose 'v' shape, like a flock of geese. And most of these aren't the kind of boats you'd bring out to sea, either. The majority are kayaks, rowboats, even a pool noodle, not moving so much as being dragged along by the stronger boats at the center. Only the pair of deep sea fishing boats leading this motley crew could be considered even remotely seaworthy, and even then they're built for fishing trips a few hours' long, not a multiday journey across the Pacific Ocean. It's an odd assortment, rivaled in diversity only by the gaudy outfits of the teenage girls piloting them. They crawl over the crude formation like ants. Some curl up in the cockpits of kayaks, trying not to vomit. Others have passed out in the midday sun, their brains sizzling like fried eggs in a pan. There are a few keeping watch over fishing rods cast into the bowl of the 'v', realizing too late maybe they should have brought better bait than marshmallows. Those that can swim try to push their vessels onward by doggy paddling. Closer to the center, a pair of girls tend to a sickly looking dairy cow on a large raft, while on the smaller of the two fishing boats, a girl uses her powers to keep a makeshift garden barely alive, wondering how they're going to ration the remaining fresh water.

And on the biggest fishing boat, a girl in polka dot pantaloons, a get up tacky even by the standards of her peers, screams into a trumpet, blasting wind into a makeshift sail made of old clothing. Her name is _Maho_, and to say she is having a bad day would be an understatement.

. . .

"Maho?" Fore's quiet voice rose from under the bed. "That's a funny name for a superhero."

Stampede stares at the ceiling light, counting the flickers.

"Yeah, I guess I should have told you: 'Maho' is what they call superheroes in Japan. Don't ask me what that means, because I couldn't tell you for the life of-"

"Magic. 'Maho' is the Japanese word for magic."

"And where did you learn that, Ms. Smarty-Pants?"

"My parents. They thought it would be good for me to learn about different cultures…y'know, before"

Uh-oh. Time to get the story on track.

"Anyway, she didn't actually call herself Maho. But I'll explain that part later. Now where was I…?"

. . .

You might be wondering what tempted the girl named Maho to cross the Pacific Ocean, and while the story varies from teller to teller, the basic details remain the same: the Contractor (or, Wish-granter, Manager, Girl-Runner, or whatever you call the fuzzy little guy who crams our souls into rocks) in good ol' Japan was real bad at his job, making contracts with more girls than there were geists to grapple with. There were turf wars aplenty, the weaker girls getting kicked around from town to town until grief ate them alive from the inside out. It was only a matter of time before some girl got it kicking around in her noodle to just leave the Land of the Rising Sun entirely. And that girl was _Maho_.

Using the power of puppy dog eyes and saying 'please, please, please,' over and over again, she'd gotten some motherly superheroine called Mommy to shell out enough for a fishing boat. At least, that's how one story goes. Another says she won an arm-wrestling competition against a group of fishermen for it (or cheese eating competition, depending on who is spinning the yarn). For all we know she raised a sunken one using her magic. Point is, somehow, she'd managed to get her tiny preteen hands on a fishing boat. And she wasn't alone either. Along the way, two other girls had gotten roped into the scheme, bringing along a dairy cow they had adopted (and don't ask me how they got THAT thing, this story is getting long enough as it is) to provide fresh cheese and companionship on the journey. Things were going smoothly (well, as smooth as three little girls hurtling into the middle of the Pacific could go) until a speck appeared on the horizon behind them, growing in size. Now, these weren't the brightest girls, but they weren't stupid. They knew perils awaited them in the open ocean: hurricane winds, massive whirlpools, maybe a shark or two.

They hadn't expected another girl riding a kayak.

See, word had spread about their little expedition, and before they knew it, their vessel had a dozen remoras sticking to her sides. Problem was, our heroes had only packed away enough sadness squares and food supplies for the three of them, and after six days at sea, they'd realized that maybe, just _maybe, _they'd underestimated how big the Pacific was.

Which brings us back to Maho, who despite her empty belly, feels that at any moment vomit is going to splooge through her trumpet and onto the sail. The plan had been so_ simple_: travel to Hawaii, find some old rich dude; pretend to be his long lost nieces, go on some whacky adventures, and BOOM! Instant family! Granted, this plan had been made when it was just her, the Maho Who Likes Cows and the Maho That Was Just There, as opposed to say, a dozen girls whose collective maritime experience amounted to staying hydrated during field day, but she was fairly certain things could still work out. Work out in that they probably wouldn't even make it to Hawaii, ending their problems prematurely, but she was scrabbling for optimism.

Her legs wobbled. The merciless sun threatened to melt her cap right off her head. Her stomach felt like it was full of briars. Her Herb Alpert mixtape had gone missing. Any sane girl would know that a person in this condition wouldn't exactly be in the mood to talk. Of course, most sane folks didn't sell their souls to a space plushy.

Every now and then an intrepid soul would tap her on the shoulder, asking the sorts of questions you'd expect from the kinds of girls who'd desperately put themselves at the mercy of the Pacific.

"Maho, do you know where the bandages are?"

_In the center cabin, on the top shelf._

"Maho, I saw some barnacles growing under the boat. Can I eat them?"

_Certainly! But PLEASE promise you won't drink the seawater again._

"Maho, when will the rain come?"

_Put a spoon under your pillow. I heard that helps!_

"Maho, you're not hallucinating food again, are you?"

_Shut up Gummi Bear_.

And worst of all-

"Maho, are we there yet?"

When somebody said this, it took all her courage not to ram her trumpet through their skull, doubly so when she saw Maho Who Likes Cows and Maho Who Was Just There holding an umbrella over the cow and feeding it the remaining freshwater through a bendy straw.

Like at the moment, which saw her delivering a death glare into the face of a shy, grey haired girl known as the Gay Maho.

A breath whooshes out of Maho's body as she gives the only bit of assurance she can.

"I'll talk to the First Mate." She says in her big girl voice.

With that, she retreats to the bowels of her fishing boat.


	3. Chapter 2: First Mate and Milk

To say the First Mate is having a bad day would be an understatement. On the outside, it looked as if he were staring out a window, to the distant lands at the ocean's edge. In truth, he is glaring disdainfully at his reflection, looking inward.

His friends had warned him:

_Don't use those dating sites, First Mate! That's where all the crazy ones hang out, First Mate! But First Mate no listen. No, First Mate had to agree to date with some girl looking for a 'guy who liked ships'. First Mate had to go into alley for a dinner date and get knocked out!_

That blunder should have been where the sad, pathetic story of his life ended. If only! Now he was trapped on a boat with a bunch of crazy brats, the only thing keeping him there being a gnarly mix of the white haired girl's precious begging and his own personal demons. They were totally screwed with him charting the course, but at least they were screwed with something resembling parental supervision. He moves his hand over the peach fuzz growing in odd patches across his face. If one good thing can be said about this half-baked voyage, at least he has a chance to grow out his facial hair. He eyes it admirably. So suave. So trendy.

_OhwhoamIkiddingIlooklikeaninsane-_

A pair of shiny black shoes thump-thump-thumping down the stairs break him out of his loathing.

"Hi, First Mate!" chirps the little nutcase.

"Oh, hey Maho."

"I know you're really, _really_, busy, buuuuuttttt… Do you know when we'll get to Hawaii?"

_Straight to the point, as always. _

"Hard to say." He walks over to a table where, along with the remaining canned goods, there resides the best navigational tool at their disposal. The First Mate puts his hand on it, making the arrow moving erratically across it as Maho stares in wonder.

"A few more days."

"But _how_ many?"

"Sorry Maho, but this thing was never meant to be that specific."

"But can't you tell me a number? Five days? Four? Everyone's getting anxious and they could really, really-"

Above them, something rumbles. At first they think a storm is brewing, but it's a bit too high pitched for thunder.

"Uh-oh." Maho does her best to contain her anger, but the First Mate can see it radiating off her. "Someone's fighting, Gotta go!"

With that, she clop-clop-clops up the stairs, slamming the cabin door behind her.

As she leaves, the First Mate, while nervous, quietly thanks God none of the girls know what an Ouija Board is.

. . .

Maho exits the cabin to see the rest of the girls crowded around the raft where their bovine baggage resides. They seem to be in two groups: one trying to mob their cow, the other, which consists of her two original companions and two others, blocks it. Both Maho Who Likes Cows and Maho Who Is Just There are transformed, their weapons, an enormous hammer and shield, respectively, drawn. And there is screaming, so, so much screaming.

Maho rubs her temples. _Cow Maho, __**please**__ tell me you didn't poop in someone's kayak again._

There is an earth shaking blast from a horn, and the crowd shuts its' collective trap.

"Everyone, this is your captain speaking! Could somebody please explain what is going on?

Cow Maho, as always, is the first to speak her mind. "Mean girls tried to eat Moomoo!"

"No I didn't!" protested a girl in a red and white dress. "I was just trying to get some milk!"

"LIAR!" screeched Cow Maho "I saw you try to get under her! I saw hunger in your eyes!"

"No I wasn't! Your stupid cow is too skinny to have meat, anyway!"

"Why don't you go milk the barnacles?!"

"Why don't _you _poop in your own-"

Maho blasts her trumpet again, the sound threatening to crack the sky.

For her part, Moomoo wonders why the humans are being so noisy.

"EVERYBODY, SETTLE DOWN!" barks Maho so loud her head practically pops off. "Cow Maho, I know you don't like sharing, but we've all got to try to get along now. So please, let her have some milk."

"But Moomoo's not making milk!" protests the other girl. She tugs the poor animal's tail multiple times. To the surprise of a distressingly large number of girls, nothing comes out.

"Cow Maho" interjects a short, green haired girl with cat ears "that is _not _where milk comes from."

"No!" cries Cow Maho. "Milk comes from tail! Cow Maho _expert_ on-"

"But if that's the case" interrupts a girl wearing a tacky shirt adorned with images of several different types of sushi, "where _does_ it come from?"

Cat Ears Maho inhales deeply. "Captain, permission to milk cow?"

Maho, desperate to get this over with, nods. "Permission granted."

The girls back away as if the cow has magically turned into an atom bomb (though considering the nature of the crew, it wasn't impossible) until only three remain near the cow: Cow Maho, Cat Ears, and a devilish girl in a red skirt who always seems to follow Cat Ears around. Cat Ears asks for a bucket; the Devlish Maho fetching one they'd been using to catch rain. Cat Ears nods, sliding it under the cow. Moving steadily, she puts her hand around an udder, its' warmth making her very, _very_ uncomfortable.

There is a hush at this great violation; even the seagulls overhead are weirdly still.

Slowly at first, and then more quickly, a soft sound rises from the bottom of the bucket out as milk tinkles out like mana from heaven, followed by several gallons of vomit being retched into the oceans as many girls realize, for the first time, just where milk comes from.

. . .

"That can't be right!" protests Fore. "I'm not super smart, but I'm eight, and _I _know where milk comes from!"

"And when _I_ was eight, I was putting mouse traps in my Lucky Charms to catch that stupid leprechaun! Kid, if every Superheroine was half as smart as you were, Mr. Bun and all the other contractors in this crazy country would have been run out of town long ago!"

"But-"

"No buts, kid! You want to hear how things went down or not?!"

Fore grumbles something about 'embellishment', too soft for Stampede to hear.

Outside, the storm rages on.

. . .

Maho, as always, looks on the Brightside. Sure, the vomit has scared away all the fish, but now they had a trail back to Japan, should they ever need it. A very green, slimy trail. And milk. Cat Ear's haul looks like a lot, but once doled out between them, there is only, like, half a cup a person. A half a cup they drink with fervor.

Somebody raises their cheap, plastic cup.

"To the Milkbringer!"

Almost a dozen other cups follow.

"TO THE MILKBRINGER!"

Upon which Cat Ears is snuggled so hard she almost dies. But for better or worse, doesn't.

Still, as much as they celebrate, a simple question probes in the back of everyone's heads: What _were _they going to do about food? Their gems would keep them alive, sure, but without proper refueling they wouldn't be much use, and the hope that was keeping them buoyed was starting to fizzle out the longer they were at sea.

The Maho Who Enjoyed Gardening is doing her darndest to plant something, but it takes all her juice just to make a few mushy apples.

Seagulls are an option, but they fly too high above their little flotilla for any of the girls to reach, even with superhuman jumping abilities. The way they soar in circles, blocking out the sun, even makes some girls suspect they aren't seagulls at all, but… something best not talked about.

And fishing is a no go, as usual.

Maho assesses her options. For what it was worth, they existed!

"We could try eating the rats." She suggests, getting the kinds of reactions one would get from making that sort of proposal.

But the worst reaction comes from the rats themselves, who Maho notices just in time to see swimming away on a hijacked pool noodle, now too far out at sea for anybody to reach. Just before they go out of sight, Maho can swear she sees one of them giving her the finger. Because of course it is.

"My pool noodle!" Wailed the Maho In A Sushi Shirt.

At least nobods notices this embarrassing blunder. Instead, everyone sans Justthere Maho and Cow Maho are gazing at Moomoo with a look that can only be described as hunger.

_There must be blood._ Maho thinks, licking her lips.

_Shut up, brain._

_It must be fresshhhh._

_I said __**shut up**__, brain!_

"No!" screams Cow Maho. "Nobody touch Moomoo!"

"Wait!" someone cries. It is the Maho Who Loved Justice. "Why don't we just split it? Cow Maho can get the front half and we'll-"

"No! No sharing!" a wide swing of a hammer nearly takes off Justice Maho's head. "My Moomoo!"

Before she can deal any more damage, a trumpet blares out.

"That's ENOUGH! Why can't everyone get along?!"

It takes all her strength to keep herself calm, but she does have one more option. The problem is, the others probably aren't going to like it.

"There is _one _ration we haven't tried yet."

The other girls know where she is going with this, and contort their faces appropriately. Trying to ignore them, Maho goes to her cabin, dredging up several cans of slightly expired green bell peppers. It was one thing to have wound up as the ward of a bunch of Mahos who couldn't possibly make it anywhere else, but to top it off they all happened to have an irrational hatred of the mild green vegetable. Herself included.

"Now don't be like that!" She rips the lid of one of the cans, pouring the salty contents into her mouth. It takes all her effort not to roll into a ball on the deck. How could someone like this kind of food?! It tastes like _burning_!

"S-see? Delicious!" While she can't see her own face, if the other girls are anything to go by it doesn't look convincing.

. . .

For the rest of the day, nobody tries to eat the cow, but Maho can see the other girls eyeing it as if it the devil as they go about their daily routines. Cat Ears, who had previously kept to herself besides her one friend, now has other girls frequenting the motorboat she arrived on.

Only JustThere Maho comes to her (after she is done trying to help everyone else in her quiet, JustThere way, of course).

"I still think you're a good captain." She tells Maho.

But her voice is, as usual, too soft to reach the Captain's ears.


End file.
